


The Witching Hour

by fleshling_beguiler (Tyaasei)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Breastfeeding, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, I wrote this instead of studying, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Male Lactation, Mates, Mpreg, Purring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Unplanned Pregnancy, Yennefer is a Good Aunt, no beta we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:14:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24012679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyaasei/pseuds/fleshling_beguiler
Summary: As the wind and the wolves howled at the moon hung high over the crumbling walls of Kaer Morhen, Geralt's newborn daughter joined in with a song of her own, wailing along in a haunting harmony brought on only by new life.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 459





	The Witching Hour

It was sometime around 3 am, by Geralt’s best estimate. The sun had long since been doused, but in the dead of winter, it was hard to keep track. And, to be frank, the past 18 hours had been far too busy and stressful to care about the scheduled rising and falling of celestial bodies. There had been more important bodies to concern himself about.

With his heart in his throat, Geralt watched as Jaskier cradled the fussy bundle of pink flesh against his chest, little hands grasping at nothing before that hungry, toothless mouth found its mark. Jaskier’s breath hitched as their newborn daughter latched on, and the awed, dewy look in his eyes was the same he’d gotten when he and Geralt had agreed they wanted to keep her. They, of course, had no idea that she was going to be a she back then, let alone make it full term or be a live birth. But she had made it, whole and covered in a healthy layer of baby fat, along with her barer, although if the violent shaking of his body to be taken into account, he was a bit worse for wear.

She smelled like blood, viscera, now with a spill of mother’s milk, and Geralt was all the more smitten. Watching Jaskier writhe in anguish as his body began working to expel the creature it’d been growing for nigh on a year had been one of the most excruciating things he’d witnessed in his long life. But now, when Yen was stitching Jaskier’s lower half back together with careful hands, and Jaskier’s eyes beginning to droop as he combed his callused fingers through moonbeam hair, it was worth it.

“Oh, Geralt. Look at her,” Jaskier paused, a finger stroking over a chubby cheek, “You’re practically twins…”

His arm fell to the bed after that, only to come back up again, the movement forced, sluggish, and deliberate, just like the tired fluttering of the bard’s sleep bruised eyes. Their little girl chose that moment to unlatch and let out a wail. Jaskier tried to shush her, bringing her yet closer to him, only to have Yen step in and carefully lift the baby into her own arms.

“Sleep, Jas. We’ll be here when you wake up, and you need sleep,” she said, smoothing her hands through his sweat streaked hair, “We’ll look after her. Rest.”

With one last flutter of his eye lashes and a weak, “Mkay”, Jaskier passed out, slumped against headboard, his arm still stretched out in the vague direction of his daughter.

Hearing his daughter cry tore at something buried deep in his chest, and Geralt stared at Yen as she paced with the girl for a moment, muttering under hear breath, with the baby’s crying left unquelled. The sorceress set the newborn in his arms, a soft smile quirking up on her face at the stunned instead of stoic silence and the near unnoticeable shake of his frame.

“There you are, right where you belong,” Yen said, although it was hard to make out over the whimpering, “I’ll leave you now.”

Before he could let out the unspoken “But” that sat on the edge of his tongue, she hushed him, “Take care of your daughter. Bond with her. I’m not far, so if he starts hemorrhaging for some reason, let out that awful roar of yours and I’ll come running.”

Not another word could find its way through his brain before the sorceress closed the door behind her. Geralt looked down at the fussing child, and sat for a moment, at a loss, just staring down at her, enchanted and terrified.

As the wind and the wolves howled at the moon hung high over the crumbling walls of Kaer Morhen, Geralt's newborn daughter joined in with a song of her own, wailing along in a haunting harmony brought on only by new life.

She was a shriveled, red potato of a pup, but gods above, was she just precious. At that, Geralt brought her up to kiss her creased forehead, one that was already starting to mirror his own with how many unhappy creases had taken up residence there. He continued his rocking, trying to shush her, gently, so that she could get the sleep she needed. Even after all of his years with Jaskier at his side, he still couldn’t stand continuous loud noise, but he could forgive the tiny creature that looked all too fragile and breakable in his arms. Not even an hour ago, she'd only known warmth and safety curled up tight in Jaskier's belly, and now she was thrown out in the awful frigid cold of the world with the rest of them. She could scream her heart out, and he'd let her. She had every right to, if only it didn't mean that she'd scream her new throat sore. There'd be time for that later. Time to scream at the injustices of the world and wrongs dealt to those who didn't deserve them, but for now, she needed rest. But just like her sire, she didn't seem to want to sleep unless she had to.

Geralt kept rocking her, making sure her swaddles were tuck around her body not too tight, then laying her across his chest, praying it would help. Jaskier had mentioned that the smell of a parent or the sound of their heart beating would calm a baby. But that didn't help. If anything, it just made her cries all the more heart breaking.

Too monstrous and inhuman to soothe his own flesh and blood.

For the millionth time since he'd learned that he'd somehow managed to get his bard pregnant, Geralt wondered if he could do this at all. Ciri was one thing. A princess who'd been promised to him by destiny and his own poor decision making, who'd met him as a young woman more than a little girl, but this child…

He was technically already a father, but newborns and teenagers were two very different beasts. For example, it was much easier to crush a newborn by accident.

Still, he had to try. There was no running away from this one, not when this little girl had his hair, was borne by his mate, and was holding onto his thumb for dear life. He wouldn’t leave when he’d sworn on his manhood he wouldn’t run this time, when he’d promised with Jaskier in his arms, cursing his own tears, and certainly not in the middle of a blizzard when the front doors of the keep were half buried under snow.

So, Geralt tucked her head under his chin, doing his best to subdue the wiggles that under any other circumstance would have been adorable. On a whim, he decided to try what helped him sleep whenever it just wouldn’t come, and he was in the arms of someone who somehow managed to love him. He knew he was no good at it, but it was worth a shot. Taking in a deep breath that hitched somewhere in the middle, he began to sing. Well, not sing, the first line died in a whisper at the end, and the rest turned into a deep hum to a tune that still rode the edge of obnoxious and endearing.

_“Toss a coin to your Witcher, Oh Valley of Plenty…”_

Soft and slow, just like Jaskier did when they were on the road and Geralt was too anxious to sleep. As he hummed and almost sang, his lips brushed against the crown of his daughter’s head, wisps of silver hair that Jaskier had adored from the start, all the way back in Posada, tickling his nose. He swayed them both back, grateful at last for the rocking chair that Jaskier had demanded during his seventh month, along with a crib to match. The rocking movement was supposed to be calming for parent and child alike.

One massive hand brushed against the curls at the back of her head, and he did his best to purr in the same way that Jaskier loved to hear when the day had been difficult and he needed reassurance, when they were alone, safe. It was still hard to muster up sometimes, even now it was difficult, but having her nuzzle her tiny head toward the source of the noise in his chest was enough to keep it going strong. After what seemed like an age, she fell into tiny snuffling instead of sobbing, letting out little coos and signs as she settled against his chest, fists curled tightly into Geralt’s shirt.

He didn’t stop humming, once she nodded off, just in case she woke up again, rocking and purring in time to keep her comfortable, that she knew that she was safe and protected. If he were to say he wasn’t tired, he would have been lying, but even now, the half of his brain that wasn’t solely focused on his daughter kept an ear out for anything amiss, to keep his pup safe.

Geralt wasn’t sure how much time had passed since Yen left them alone, but he was startled out of his reverie by a lute weathered hand brushing against his arm. It smoothed down his arm with a soft “hmm” as Jaskier stretched his sore, overtaxed body, finding a home twining with Geralt’s over a little fist. Eyes groggy and as blue as sea water, Jaskier let out another pleased noise as he shuffled closer and rubbed his thumb over their combined hands.

“You’re so good with her…” Jaskier said, his voice as worn and tired as he looked, “Purring and everything…”

Geralt leaned in as best as he could, not too quick so he wouldn’t disturb their pup, and settled fully on the bed. Not a moment later, Jaskier carefully slotted himself into Geralt’s side.

“Have you figured out what you want to name her then?” Geralt asked, soft and pensive.

Jaskier gave a huff, and then a short laugh as he tucked his head onto his mate’s shoulder.

“We’re both supposed to name her together, you brute. Although, the last time you gave anything a name, you named after a fish, poor girl,” Jaskier shook his head, “I’m not letting you name our daughter after anything like that.”

Geralt gave out a huff of his own.

“Hmm, fine. What did you have in mind then?”

“Well,” Jaskier said, twirling one silver curl around his finger, “We could always name her like I named myself. A sweet flower name for a sweet little girl like her would do nicely, I think.”

“You say that like we both don’t know she’s going to be sneaking into our packs to play with any weapon she can get her grubby little hands on before she turns five.”

They both couldn’t help but laugh at that. It was their daughter, of course she’d have a penchant for trouble making with knives.

“Still, flowers aren’t all cuddly all the time, they all have significant meanings,” Jaskier said, “Why, if you knew what you were doing, you could tell someone how much you hated them with a bouquet of yellow carnations.”

“Why do that when you could just point a blade to their face?”

“Hush,” Jaskier muttered, punctuating himself by giving Geralt a soft slap across his shoulder, “But anyway, with that in mind, I think Daffodil would be a good match for her. With your stunning white hair and gorgeous topaz eyes passed down, she’s got the right colors to fit the name too.”

Geralt turned his head to look at Jaskier fully, an eyebrow quirked up. He had yet to stop purring.

“And daffodil means…?”

Jaskier tilted his dead back and smiled, tugging Geralt’s hand closer and pressing soft kisses against the ghosts of scars that haunted his knuckles.

“Rebirth, eternal life, new beginnings, joy, celebration, and hope.”

Geralt sat for a moment, then blinked before responding. “Mmm, that’s a lot of things,” he murmured, “A lot of good things.”

“A lot of good things, indeed…”

They fell into a shared silence after that, just watching their daughter and the gentle rise and fall of his chest, thinking about what was to come. Raising her would be no easy feat, and in the back of his mind, Geralt hoped that her appearance and maybe a touch of advanced healing would be all he would pass on to Daffodil. There would be more blunders than blessings, that was to be sure, but they would try. Damn, they would try.

But there would be time to worry about that later, when they were rested up and after Daffodil was introduced to the rest of the wolf pack, her aunt, and her sister.

For now, they fell asleep pressed against each other, with their newborn nestled on her back between them. They’d face the coming days when they got there, and they’d rise to the challenge, just like they always had, like they always will. They just had a new bundle of joy to add to that mountain of challenge now, but it was worth it.

So very, very worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! If you could, I would really appreciate a kudos or a comment. I'm always looking for constructive criticism to improve my work. Thanks for reading and have a good one! ♥
> 
> And remember! Stay inside and wash your hands!


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